


Ozymandias

by chochowilliams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Angst, Character Death, Drama, Fantasy, Gen, M/M, No Boy-Who-Lived, No Voldemort, Not Epilogue Compliant, Past Character Death, Possession/Resurrection, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 12:44:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6052105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chochowilliams/pseuds/chochowilliams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry finds himself obsessed with finding the Slytherin named Tom that he met by Black Lake, but Tom seems to be avoiding him. Their next meeting is not exactly how he envisioned it would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ozymandias

**Ozymandias**

**Written by:** chochowilliams

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own _Harry Potter_ or the characters, places or names. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

 **Summary:** Harry finds himself obsessed with finding the Slytherin named Tom that he met by Black Lake, but Tom seems to be avoiding him. Their next meeting is not exactly how he envisioned it would be.

 **Warning:** AU, Non-Epilogue Compliant, Implied Past Character Death, Character Death, Possession/Resurrection, No-BWL, No-Voldemort, Slight Hermione Bashing, Drama, Angst, Fantasy, Mystery, Pre-Slash

 **Pairings:** Harry Potter/Tom Marvolo Riddle

 **A/N:** Please enjoy and remember to leave a review at the end. Thank you!

 

 

* * *

**I**

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

Spring arrived a few short weeks ago, but mounds of snow still covered the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  The Black Lake remained nearly eighty percent frozen.  A slight chill rode the air, but the sun was bright and warm and chased after the chill as a cat would a mouse.

 

Many had decided to take advantage of one of the first nice spring days of the year.  One of those was sixteen-year-old Harry Potter.  He had opted out of the snowball fight his fellow Gryffindors were having.  Instead, Harry was lounging under a tree near Black Lake.  His robe was pulled tight around him to ward off the chill coming off the lake.

 

As the laughter and occasional shriek from his classmates washed over him in waves on the wind, Harry drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs.

 

Out over the lake of ice he gazed.

 

Already it was mid-April.  In two-short months, he would be saying goodbye to the only true home he had.  He did not want to return to Surrey and the Dursleys, but he did not have a choice; yes, he could always stay with the Weasleys or even Hermione, but he did not want to be an imposition and he did not have the money to stay at the Leaky Cauldron for an extended stay.

 

With that knowledge came the depression.  It was an old friend that wrapped him in a bear hug for the whole summer, not letting go until the Hogwarts Express leaves Kings Cross September first. 

 

The only upside to returning to the Dursleys this summer is he did not have to remain for long.  Almost halfway through this summer holiday, Harry was turning seventeen.  Legally, he would be an adult within the wizarding world.  This meant he could leave his muggle relative’s house and not look back.  Ever.  But that still left five nightmarish weeks with the Dursleys.  Maybe if he told the Dursleys his plans to move out, which meant they could forget he even existed, they would leave him alone.

 

One can hope.

 

Where he would spend the rest of the summer, he was not sure, but there was still time to figure that out.

 

“Hello.”

 

The masculine voice startled Harry out of his thoughts.  His body gave a violent jolt as his heart leapt into his throat.  “God,” he breathed with a hand over his racing heart.

 

“Muggleborn I take it.”

 

Though the tone was even, almost neutral, there was still an underlying accusation that had Harry tensing.  Eyes the color of spring grass narrowed dangerously.  His hand hovering near his wand, Harry slowly raised his head.  “Muggle- _raised_ actually,” Harry corrected.

 

“Ah!”  The other nodded knowingly.  “We are the same then.”

 

That had Harry cocking an eyebrow.  “How so?”  His hand dropped minutely from his wand, but he kept it within reach just in case.

 

“I myself am a half-blood, but was orphaned at birth and now I live in a muggle orphanage.”  There was a sneer on the guy’s face and a distant look in his eyes as he gazed out over the grounds of Hogwarts.

 

Harry found himself wincing in sympathy as well as understanding.  “Me too,” he admitted, “only I was sent to live with my muggle aunt and her husband.”

 

“Hm.”  Dark eyes slid sideways to Harry.  “Not easy residing with _muggles_ is it?”

 

“It can be—trying,” Harry agreed carefully.

 

He was not sure if he liked how this guy said “muggles”.  Was he a pureblood supremacist?  Harry hoped not.  This guy was too cute to be one of those misguided fools.  Look at Malfoy, cute until he opened his mouth.

 

“That it can.”  There was a brief lull in the conversation before, “Forgive me for being so forward, but may I inquire as to what happened to your parents?  If you were raised in the muggle world, then I assume you had no wizarding relatives?”

 

With a hum, Harry shrugged lazily.  “No _immediate_ wizarding relatives,” he answered the second question first.  “But since all purebloods are supposedly related to some degree…” 

 

The guy nodded in understanding.

 

A thunderous crack had Harry’s heart leaping out of his chest and him jumping a mile.  To his embarrassment, and envy, his companion—outwardly at least—appeared unfazed by the unexpected loud noise. 

 

Both of their attentions turned to Black Lake where the giant squid made its first appearance of the season by using its tentacles to break apart what remained of the ice.

 

“My parents,” Harry continued as he watched the squid vanish within the depths of the lake once more, “were killed in a hit and run on Halloween night when I was 15 months old; they never caught the person responsible.  My parents…they were on a date celebrating…”  His voice choked to a halt.  Taking a deep breath, Harry swallowed passed the lump in his throat, and then breathed out slowly before continuing, “…celebrating the new baby.”  He cleared his throat of the achiness caused by keeping his emotions in check.

 

“Your mother was pregnant?”

 

“Yes.”  Harry swung his gaze back to his companion who had a slack jawed look on his face.  “That’s what my godfather says anyway.”

 

“Godfather?” the guy repeated in confusion.  “If you have an appointed guardian, why do you not live with him?”

 

“Sirius didn’t take my parents’ death too well,” Harry explained.  “In fact that’s how I got this scar.”  He raised his fringe that usually hid the almost lightning bolt-like scar on his forehead.

 

The other, whose name Harry still did not know, took in the mark with open curiosity.  “Intriguing.  Dark magic I take it?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed.  He dropped his hand and the scar vanished behind the curtain of his fringe once more.  “When aurors came to tell Sirius of the accident, he dropped me. I hit the end table, which caused a bronze statue to tip over.  The spear it held slipped loose and cut me.  Turned out the tip had been dipped in some sort of—poison or something.”

 

Nobody was sure where that statue had come from or what happened to it after it was taken into evidence.  Sirius couldn’t remember seeing it before the incident nor could he remember James ever mentioning the statue.  At the time of his death, James had been working on an undercover assignment for the Minister of Magic that had since been labeled as “classified” and “top secret”, so nobody other than those involved knew what James had gotten himself involved in and those that did know refused to speak out.  Not even Sirius had been able to get any information.  Though there was no evidence one way or another, and despite the Ministry’s denials that James’ last case had anything to do with his death, Sirius remained adamant to this day that it was a mighty big coincidence that both “accidents” happened pretty much at the same time James was handed the case.

 

“Anyway,” Harry continued, “as I was recuperating in Saint Mungo’s, my godfather...He lost it.”

 

“How so?”

 

“He started drinking and was always getting into fights.  A bunch of women accused him of sexual harassment, several of assault.  A suspect even died while in his custody.”

 

“Pathetic,” was the sneered reaction.

 

To that, Harry said nothing.  His opinions and feelings about Sirius were complicated.  He hated how selfish Sirius had been back then, how self-centered, that Harry hadn’t even been an afterthought.  But at the same time, Sirius was and always will be his godfather; he was the closest Harry had to a father and Harry would always love him no matter how asinine the man’s actions may be.

 

Besides, it was not as if Sirius had forgotten him completely.  It only took being thrown into Azkaban for assault and manslaughter to remember the world did not revolve around him.

 

“What of your godmother?”

 

“St. Mungo’s,” Harry answered.  “From what I understand, she was abducted and tortured to insanity while investigating a series of break-ins.”

 

“How unfortunate.”

 

“…Yeah…”

 

“Unconnected with what happened to your father I presume?”

 

Harry shrugged.  “As far as I know.”

 

With both his godparents incapable of caring for him and with no other family, the Ministry had had no choice but to give custody of Harry to Petunia and Vernon Dursley, magic hating muggles whom loathed him and never let him forget it.

 

At first, the Dursleys treated him—not as a son; for that would never happen—fairly decent, but Harry had a feeling that was for the benefit of the Ministry workers who came to check up on him on a regular basis for the first year or so.  Then the visits stopped and the Dursleys treatment did a one-eighty.

 

Why they agreed to take him in in the first place, Harry did not know.  A sense of obligation, perhaps, on Petunia’s part?

 

Her sense of familial duty ended in taking her nephew into her home, apparently, for he’d been nothing more than unpaid labor.  They hadn’t even told Harry he was a wizard.  That was something he learned at the age of eight.

 

He had been charged with cleaning and organizing the upstairs hall closet while the Dursleys spent the day at the amusement park.  In a shoebox on the topmost shelf he found dozens of letters.  To his shock and surprise, every single one was addressed to him and they were all from somebody he would quickly learn was his godfather.  They secretly began to communicate and Sirius told him all about the wizarding world.

 

Why Petunia kept Sirius’ letters instead of disposing of them, Harry could not say.

 

It was curious that she would assign him the task of cleaning the very closet that hid those letters.  Had she forgotten about them?  Possibly, but not likely given that Sirius had sent him a letter just a few days prior.  Was it possible that Petunia had deliberately pointed him towards the letters?  But why?  Why would she do that?  Out of a sense of obligation like when she took him in?

 

At this point, it made no difference he supposed.

 

Whatever altruistic intentions she may have had were nullified by her alternatively abrasive and passive behavior towards him and her husband and son’s treatment of him.

 

Harry shook all thought of his poor excuse of a family out of his head.

 

Instead, he turned towards his companion who he found was studying him in turn.  Harry’s face grew warm under the other’s intense gaze.

 

One would never know this guy had not been raised a traditional pureblood with the way he held and conducted himself.  He acting the part of an aristocrat surpassed the behavior of the actual aristocrats that strutted through the halls of Hogwarts by a landslide.

 

He appeared to be Harry’s age, though there was something about him that made him feel older.

 

Hair the color of a Dementor’s cloak was cut short and neatly coiffed.  Eyes were dark and seemed fathom deep.

 

“I’m Harry,” Harry blurted out.

 

“Nice to meet you Harry.  I am Tom,”

 

Scrambling to his feet, Harry wiped his hands on his robes before taking the offered hand.  Tom’s grip was firm.  His hand was smooth and free from callouses, unlike Harry’s own.

 

“Nice to meet you as well.”

 

Tom smiled—it was a minute twist of the lips, easy to miss—and Harry’s heart skipped a beat; his face was set aflame.  Suddenly feeling shy, Harry dropped his gaze.  That was when he noticed the Slytherin crest on Tom’s robe.  Harry blinked in astonishment.

 

That Tom did not look familiar was not surprising given how many students there was in Hogwarts, but that a Slytherin of all people was being cordial to him was a new experience.  Every single one he’d ever had contact with had been a condescending snob under the mistaken belief that his shit doesn’t stink.

 

It was a nice change.

 

“Harry!”

 

At the sound of his name, Harry turned about to search out the caller.  At the sight of his bushy-haired best friend coming towards him, Harry grinned and waved back.  Arithmacy must be over.

 

His grin faltered as he turned back around to find Tom gone.

 

“Tom?” he called out.  “Tom!”

 

Harry gazed about, but did not see the dark-haired Slytherin anywhere.  Disappointment swirled within Harry.

 

“Hey,” a breathless Hermione greeted as she joined him.  “Ready for lunch?”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Harry answered.

 

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked when she noticed his distraction.

 

Harry shook his head.

 

“Harry?”

 

Without a word, he trudged passed Hermione and back up the hill to the castle, hugging his arms tightly around himself in an attempt to keep himself warm against the bitter chill that seemed to have intensified suddenly.

 

He heard Hermione huff and follow after him; she did not like being left out of the loop, no matter how inconsequential, but he was not in the mood to share at the moment.  Maybe later.  Maybe.

 

With his gaze on his feet that alternatively sank into mud and walked across piles of snow, Harry tried to ignore Hermione’s questioning gaze and the strange emptiness within him at Tom’s vanishing act.

 

When he entered the Great Hall a couple minutes later, Harry could not stop himself from gazing out over the Slytherin table.  There was Draco and his gaggle of cronies, but no Tom.  His disappointment grew.

 

Harry and Hermione joined Ron who was already stuffing his face at the Gryffindor table.  He acknowledged them with the briefest of glances and something that might have been a grunt.  As per usual, Hermione scoffed.  “Honestly, Ronald.”

 

“What?” Ron questioned around a mouthful of fried chicken that wound up raining down on those unfortunate enough to be seated near him.

 

A collective cry of revulsion sounded.

 

“That is disgusting Ronald,” Hermione admonished.

 

“What?”

 

Giving up with a sigh of disgust, Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out her arthimacy textbook that she held up between her and Ron as a shield from further projectiles while she dug into her shepherd’s pie with the other hand and proceeded to ignore everything and everyone around her.

 

Harry watched this all with a detached eyes as he spooned whatever was in reach onto his plate; for most of his attention was on the Great Hall doors.  Watching Ron gorge himself had made Harry realize that just because Tom wasn’t here yet, didn’t mean he wouldn’t show eventually.  After all, Tom had to eat.  Therefore at some point, Tom would make his way to the Great Hall.  And since lunch had just begun, there was no chance of missing him.  If for some reason Harry did miss Tom—say Tom skipped lunch or chose to eat in the kitchen, in an effort to avoid Harry perhaps—that was not going to stop Harry.  He would confront Tom and demand answers, one way or another.

 

Why had Tom run off like that?  Did it have something to do with Hermione?  Was it because she was a Muggleborn?  Tom did vanish when she appeared.  Or was it merely a coincidence?

 

Not once did Harry stop to think that Tom did not owe him anything, especially an explanation; it wasn’t as if they were dating or were even friends.

 

Students, staff and then lunch came and went, but Tom never appeared.

 

Harry squashed the returning disappointment by reminding himself that hope was not yet lost.  Hogwarts was only so big and there were only so many places Tom could go.  Tom could not hide from Harry forever.  If that was in fact what Tom was doing, but then…what else could he be doing but avoiding Harry?  All Harry had to do was find him and find out.

 

“That’s it,” Harry cried softly.

 

“What’s it?” Ron asked around a mouthful of treacle tart.

 

“Nothing.  I, uh, just forgot my books,” Harry lied easily as he stood up and stepped over the bench.

 

Well, it wasn’t really a lie.  He had forgotten his books for his afternoon classes.  They just weren’t the main reason he was heading to Gryffindor tower.

 

“I’ll see you in class,” he threw hurriedly over his shoulder as he raced from the Great Hall.

 

Ron’s response, if there was one, was lost by the fact that Harry was already halfway across the Entrance Hall towards the Grand Staircase.

 

If he would have turned around, he would have seen Hermione watching his progress with a frown.

 

A couple of minutes later, Harry arrived panting before the portrait of the Fat Lady who appeared to be a wee bit tipsy, even though all she was drinking was tea—or so she claimed.  So naturally it took several tries to get her to respond to the password.  It did not help that she was attempting to get him to sing some really weird song with her; something about bees and bubblegum or something like that.  But eventually she grudgingly allowed him to enter the dorm, grumbling, “Alright.  Alright.  In you go you bunch of party poopers.”  By then several others had joined him.

 

“Finally!  About time,” came the complaints from those behind Harry as he led them into the Common Room.

 

Harry made a beeline to the staircase leading to the dormitories.  Taking the stairs two at a time, he burst through the door of the sixth year boys’ dorm.  As expected it was empty.

 

Falling to his knees before his trunk, he tossed open the lid and dug through its contents.  Stashed in a hidden compartment at the back behind a parseltongue ward were his father’s invisibility cloak and the Marauder’s Map. Pulling out the map, he re-warded the hidden compartment, shut his trunk and settled onto his bed.

 

“I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” he muttered out loud with a tap of his wand to the folded parchment.  Immediately, the usually blank parchment began to fill as if he were watching an invisible hand quickly sketch a picture of Hogwarts. He never got tired of watching the map materialize.  “Awesome.”

 

His good mood soon turned to irritation as it quickly became obvious that trying to find a particular individual within the walls of the castle was like trying to find a thestral in the dark when you never witnessed death.

 

“Too bad you can’t just show me Slytherines,” he mumbled as he flipped through the numerous folds of the map filled with miniscule squiggles.

 

Suddenly, parts of the castle began to vanish from the map as if they were being erased by that unseen hand.

 

“Wha-?”

 

Panicking, Harry stumbled to his feet—tripping over the hem of his robe in his haste—and glanced around, but he was still the only one in the dorm.  If the guys had been there, realistically what could they have done?  The same thing Harry could do without them there; nothing.  All he could do was watch helplessly as the castle erased itself from the parchment.

 

But as suddenly as it began, it stopped.

 

Confused, he brought the map so close to his face that his nose brushed the parchment.

 

Blaise Zabini.  Theodore Nott.  Daphne Greengrass.  Millicent Bulstrode.  Pansy Parkinson.  Vincent Crabbe.  Gregory Goyle.

 

“Slytherins,” Harry muttered as he read the names that remained.

 

A huge grin burst across Harry’s face as he realized what happened.  The map had not been erasing itself as he had first believed.  It had been filtering itself to show only the Slytherin students within the castle.

 

“That is so cool,” Harry breathed in wonder.

 

He’d had no idea the map could do that.  Did the Twins know?  Probably not.  Harry was certain they would have said something when they gave him the map had they known.

 

Without taking his eyes from the map, Harry crawled back onto the bed to continue his search for the wayward Tom.

 

No matter how many times he searched the map, the one name that should be there wasn’t.

 

That meant nothing of course.  Over the years, Harry has learned that not every part of the castle was represented on the map.  There was the Chamber of Secrets and the Room of Requirements, for example, as well as the Hogwarts grounds that included Black Lake and the quidditch field.  So there was still hope.

 

Or so he tried to tell himself.  But the longer he went without finding Tom, the more disheartened he became.

 

Why was Tom avoiding him?

 

And why was Harry so obsessed with a guy he hadn’t even known existed a few short hours ago?

 

“I like him,” Harry heard himself saying with a snort, as if the answer should have been obvious, but it hadn’t been—at least not consciously. 

 

The confession startled him into momentary stillness.  Having skipped a beat, causing him to gasp aloud, his heart started racing.  His face grew warm enough to bake treacle tart on as he stared unseeingly at the map.  Then with a groan, Harry fell backward and covered his face with the map.  It was a wonder the map did not combust he was blushing so madly.

 

This was all he needed.  To have a crush on someone who clearly did not want to be seen speaking to him.

 

Commotion out in the hall caught Harry’s attention.  Lowering the map onto his chest, he propped himself up with his elbows to watch Seamus barreling into the dorm.

 

“Hey mate,” the Irishman greeted Harry, sounding surprised as he stumbled his way to his bed.

 

“Hey,” Harry returned in amusement as Seamus bodysurfed across the bed and tumbled off the other side, landing with a hard thud and an “oomph”.  A moment later Seamus’ comforter went flying.  Then there was a shout and Seamus reappeared with his transfiguration book in hand.

 

Jumping to his feet, Seamus scurried back across the dorm, but came to a halt in the doorway to glance at Harry who was watching him in amusement.  “Aren’t you coming?” he asked Harry.

 

“Where?” Harry asked back in confusion.

 

“To class,” Seamus sounded slowly as if speaking to a child.

 

It took a moment of Harry blinking stupidly at Seamus, his mind and face blank, but then the next moment Harry was on his feet with a curse that had Seamus chuckling.  Then Harry stilled as his mind started forming new options.  Bringing the map up, his eyes searched out the transfiguration classroom.  He found it easily.  Among those gathered—which at the moment was only the Slytherins—was Draco Malfoy.

 

If he couldn’t find Tom, he’d just have someone else find Tom for him.

 

“Harry?  If you’re coming we have to leave now or we’re going to be late.”

 

“Coming!”

 

Harry flung himself over the bed, somehow managing to stuff the map beneath his pillow in the process, snatched his bag from his desk chair and raced from the dorm with Seamus. 

 

They made it to class with seconds to spare.

 

“Glad you could join us Mr. Finnigan, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said from behind the podium at the front of the classroom.

 

The class turned almost as one to watch the two Gryffindors slink into the class.

 

Seamus’ was blushing a red as violent as Fawke’s plume as he slid into the empty seat besides Dean.

 

“Sorry, Professor,” Harry said as he took the only other available chair that happened to be at the back of the class on the Slytherin side of the classroom.  Conveniently it was directly behind Malfoy.

 

If asked, Harry would not be able to say what class was about as he spent the entire period ignoring the disappointed-yet-curious glare from Hermione as well as the sympathetic glances from Ron from where they sat at the front of the class in favor of staring at the back of Malfoy’s head.

 

To Harry’s endless amusement, Draco spent the class twitching.

 

Though transfiguration was a single period this week, it seemed to last all afternoon.  By the end, even Harry was twitching.  But finally they were dismissed.  If they were given homework, which they no doubt were, Harry did not know what it was. Nor did he care at the present moment.  He could always get it from Ron later.

 

As he gathered his things together, Harry noticed Draco taking longer than usual to pack up.

 

Curious.

 

When Draco dismissed his hangers-on with a jerk of his chin, Harry frowned.

 

Draco loved an audience, especially when antagonizing Harry and his friends, which seemed to be a favored pastime.  So what was the pointy-faced little ferret up to?

 

“Heads up mate,” whispered Dean in passing.

 

“Huh?”

 

Dead shifted his gaze over Harry’s shoulder.

 

When Harry turned to follow Dean’s gaze, he saw Hermione stalking towards him.  A storm was brewing on her face.

 

Harry sighed.  He really did not have time or the patience at the present moment to deal with her.  He loved Hermione.  He really did.  She was like a sister to him.  But her mother-hen over-protectiveness grew real old real fast.  It did not matter how well-intended her actions may be.

 

“Thanks,” he muttered to Dean.

 

“Good luck,” Dean tossed over his shoulder.

 

Harry smiled after him.

 

“What’s your deal Potter?” snapped an annoyed Draco Malfoy behind him.

 

Harry rolled his eyes.  “What are you talking about?” he asked innocently as he turned around to face an irate blond.

 

“You know exactly what I am talking about!  I want to know why you were staring at me the entire class!”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Paranoid much?”

 

With a growl, Draco stepped forward so that he was literally toe to toe with Harry.  “You-!”

 

Feeling immensely pleased with himself that he could rile up Malfoy so easily, Harry grinned.  “Actually, I need to ask you something.”

 

Malfoy sneered.  “And why-?”

 

Harry simply said, “Tom” and curiously enough Malfoy went still, as if he had been turned into a statue.  His mouth closed with an audible snap.  The color drained from his face.

 

“I have no idea who you’re talking about,” Malfoy stuttered, fidgeting with the strap of his bag that was slung over his shoulder, and glancing about nervously.  Then he fled the classroom as if Death were on his heels.

 

“That’s not suspicious at all,” Harry thought drily.

 

“Harry Potter,” screeched the banshee polyjuiced as his best friend.

 

With a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes skyward, Harry pleaded for the patience and the ability to not do or say anything that he would later regret.  “Not now ‘Mione,” he gritted out over his shoulder.  He had a ferret to catch.

 

Without waiting for a response, Harry shouldered his bag and took off after Draco.

 

“Mate?” he heard Ron call after him.

 

It was not difficult to spot Draco even through the crowded hallway.

 

The urgency to get to Draco before Draco reached the safety of the Slytherin dorm spurned Harry onward, but the wily bugger was fast.  Long legs plus the natural seeker agility plus the Slytherin tendency towards self-preservation equaled prey not as easy to capture as Harry had hoped.  It was a good thing he knew some shortcuts.

 

Ducking behind a tapestry of Sir Didimus fighting a rearing wingless dragon spitting fire, Harry followed the twisting, turning route for a short time before stepping out from behind another tapestry, this time one of the marriage between Lady Cornelia Nascor and Lord Gibban Malfoy.

 

Both Sir Didimus and Lord Gibban were represented as statuesque men when in reality, it was said that Didimus had actually been the offspring of a Goblin and a Tengu.  Malfoy’s ancestor on the other hand had been short, fat, and bald and had a medical condition that left him with a hump.  His bride had been part Gorgon.

 

Harry glanced up and down the hallway in search of Malfoy.  There were a few students loitering about but no Malfoy.  If he’d missed him, Harry was going to be pissed.  But no, there he was just turning the corner.  Perfect.

 

Grinning, Harry slipped back into the passage, peeking out from behind the tapestry to watch Malfoy’s hurried trek.  Every now and then, Malfoy looked over his shoulder, probably searching for Harry.  Even though Harry was clearly not in sight, Malfoy did not slow his stride.

 

It was one of those times when Draco was not looking where he was going that Harry made his move.  He reached out from behind the tapestry and grabbing a fistful of Malfoy’s robe, yanked the unsuspecting Slytherin into the passage with him.

 

Draco squeaked.

 

“Hello Malfoy,” Harry greeted lightheartedly.

 

“Potter,” Malfoy spit in contempt as he yanked himself free. “What do you think-?”

 

“Tom.”

 

Harry was watching this time.

 

The reaction to the name was the same as before, but this time Harry noticed a flinch.

 

Just what was it about that name?

 

“I do not know who that is,” a pale looking Draco said.  His gray eyes were looking somewhere over Harry’s right shoulder.

 

Harry did not believe Malfoy for a second. “Tom,” he repeated.  “Didn’t get a last name.  Slytherin unless he stole a uniform and robe from a Slytherin student.  Orphan.  Raised in a muggle orphanage.  Half-blood.  Tall.  Black hair.  Dark eyes.  Sound familiar?”

 

Recognition flashed across Malfoy’s face quickly before it was gone.

 

“It does, doesn’t it?”

 

Malfoy was shaking his head vehemently back and forth.  His face had gone completely white.  Harry feared Malfoy would faint.

 

What was going on?

 

“No” Malfoy whispered faintly.  Then he seemed to gather himself after a brief internal debate.  Straightening his spine and with his head held high, Malfoy plastered on a sneer and glared at Harry as he repeated in a much more confident and strong voice, “I do not know of anybody named ‘Tom’.  Especially not in Slytherin.”

 

“I don’t believe you.”

 

“And I,” Malfoy shoved Harry who stumbled backward and hot the far wall, “don’t really care what you believe.”  Draco stalked forward and stabbed a finger into Harry’s chest.  “There is not now nor has there ever been a student named Tom in Slytherin.  And if I were you, I would forget that name completely.”

 

With a sniff and a not so subtle once over, Malfoy spun about and exited the passage with a flourish.

 

Harry frowned after him.

 

What was that supposed to mean?  What had they done to Tom?

 

More determined than ever to get answers, Harry raced after Malfoy.

 

He caught up to Malfoy at the Grand Staircase.

 

“Draco,” Harry called out.  “Draco wait!”

 

Whether it was the unusual usage of his given name of the unexpectedness of someone calling out to him, or a combination of the two, at the sound of Harry’s voice calling out to him, Malfoy lost his footing.

 

Harry watched in dawning horror as Malfoy flailed about on the lip of the top stair, his pale face gone blank.

 

It seemed as if there was all the time in the world to get to Draco when in reality, there was no time to so much as blink before Draco was gone.

 

A series of thuds was all that could be heard in the sudden hush.  Then even those stopped, leaving behind an eerie stillness.

 

A scream that froze the blood and stilled the heart rent apart the silence.

 

“Oh god,” Harry moaned as he rushed forward.

 

He pushed through the gathering body of students that seemed to have appeared from out of nowhere.  Some were crying.  Others were white as they stared down at the twisted unmoving body of Draco Malfoy whose eyes stared unseeingly at nothing, a look of horror frozen on his face.

 

This can’t…

 

“Oh god.”

 

Harry felt sick.  The floor titled beneath his feet.  He reached out blindly for support and someone, a Hufflepuff judging by the crest on the robe, was the only thing that stopped Harry from tumbling down after Malfoy.

 

The professors converged on the area then.  They surrounded Malfoy, veiling him view of the students.  There was shouting and sobbing and just plain chaos, but what caught Harry’s attention between one blink and another was the familiar figure that appeared on the step below him.

 

Harry blinked slowly at the male.  It took him longer than usual to recognize Tom.

 

“Tom?” he whispered.

 

But by then Tom had made his way down the stairs towards the forming crowd of professors and other Hogwarts staff around Malfoy.

 

“Tom,” he called out, “what…?”

 

Tom halted behind a sobbing Professor Vector and tossed smile back at Harry.  It was both sad and apologetic.

 

Harry opened his mouth, even took a breath, and started to raise a hand, but froze as he watched Tom walk _through_ Vector where he vanished from view.

 

Suddenly everything made sense.

 

 

* * *

**II**

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

Harry’s head was spinning with disorientation when he first opened his eyes. He stared uncomprehendingly at the shadow infested ceiling before his heavy lids slid closed and slumber reclaimed him.

 

When next he opened his eyes, it was to find himself in the hospital wing.  The curtains had been closed around the bed and his robe had been removed, as had his tie.  Both were laying folded on the table besides the bed next to his wand and glasses.

 

How had he ended up here?

 

The last memory he had was…

 

Harry closed his eyes against the tidal wave of pain that enveloped him.

 

He pressed the heel of his hands against the prickle of tears that stung his eyes.  A single sob broke loose and echoed through the quiet hospital ward.

 

Clamping his mouth shut against more sobs, Harry turned on his side to cry into his pillow.

 

Harry did not know if the tears were for Draco who lay broken on the stairs or for Tom.  His Tom who never had a chance to live before it was taken from him.

 

“Harry?”

 

Hermione’s soft voice startled him. He flipped around to see her standing at the foot of the bed.  Sitting up, he dried his wet face with the cuffs of his white button up shirt.  For now, his tears had stopped, but for the occasional sob.

 

“Hey,” Harry returned.  His voice was soft and thick with tears.

 

Hermione walked around the bed and pulled up a chair.  “How are you?” she asked in a voice just as soft.  Sitting down, she reached for Harry’s glasses and handed them to him.

 

Harry merely shrugged as he played with the arms of his glasses in his lap.

 

It felt as if his heart had been shattered to dust.  And the pain was almost unbearable.  It was a Black Hole that was determined to swallow him whole.  Like being caught in a tidal wave, there was no getting loose once it had you in its grasp.  And part of him did not want to be free.  He would willingly throw himself into the abyss if it meant escaping the pain.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed Hermione start to reach out for him, but the motion was aborted halfway.  Instead, she clasped her hands in her lap.

 

“Where’s Ron?” Harry asked in order to fill the silence.

 

“Outside.”  Hermione fiddled with the pleats of her skirt.  “I told him I wanted to speak to you alone first.”

 

Harry nodded.  Sighing lightly in defeat, he laid back against his pillows and holding his folded glasses against his chest, closed his eyes.

 

“Harry…What happened?  You’ve been acting weird all afternoon.”

 

Opening his eyes, Harry stared up at the cathedral ceiling for several long moments.

 

“Who is Tom?” Hermione asked into the silence.

 

Sitting up, Harry put on his glasses before glancing at his friend.

 

“Someone was saying you—that you…,” she broke off, flushing.

 

“Tom is a ghost,” Harry admitted brokenly.

 

“A ghost?”  Hermione moved to sit on the edge of the chair.

 

“Yes.”

 

“You mean like Sir Nicholas?”

 

“Yes,” Harry said.  His voice cracked.  Tears prickled his eyes.

 

“Then…,” Hermione frowned, “why couldn’t anyone else see him?”

 

That surprised Harry.  “Really?”

 

Hermione nodded hesitantly.

 

Harry blinked. “I…had no idea,” he said as he stared at the curtain surrounding his bed.  Why would Tom appear only to him?

 

“Isn’t that—kind of odd?”

 

“Maybe not,” Harry said after a short bout of silence.

 

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked with a frown.

 

After clearing his throat, he proceeded to tell his friend about Tom and then Malfoy’s reaction to Harry mentioning Tom.  He also told her what he suspected happened.

 

Thoughtful silence met the end of Harry’s story.

 

It was no secret that the Slytherins were prejudiced against non-pure-bloods.  Half-bloods were looked more kindly upon than muggleborns but they were still sneered down at.  Enter Tom, the orphaned half-blood, who they very easily could have assumed was more than likely a muggleborn.  While Harry could not say with absolute certainty what happened without talking to Tom, or the culprits responsible, he had a pretty good idea.

 

Given how he felt about muggles, it was a safe bet that at the orphanage, Tom was bullied, probably for being a “freak”; it was something Harry knew all about too well.  So when Tom found out about being a wizard and that there were people out there like him, it must have been a relief…but then he arrived into the wizarding world to discover it was just more of the same.

 

Either way, the Slytherins were responsible for the death of a fellow student.

 

It was strange though.

 

“Someone covered it up,” Harry determined aloud.

 

Of that he was sure.  There was no secrets at Hogwarts.  Everybody knew everything about anything that happened at Hogwarts and he had never heard so much as a rumor concerning the death of a student.  He knew someone would have mentioned something at some time if a student had indeed died.  The only reference regarding the death of a student was Moaning Myrtle and obviously Myrtle wasn’t Tom.

 

Hermione nodded in agreement.  “Of course.  It’s practically standard procedure for institutions.  Something like this makes for bad press.  It would ruin them if it got out.  So it makes sense they would hush up the incident.”

 

Harry nodded, distracted by a new thought.

 

“What is it?”

 

Harry raised his head to look Hermione in the eye.  “No secrets,” he spoke aloud his earlier thought. “There is no way something like the death of a student could be covered up unless everyone was obliviated.”

 

“What are you thinking?” Hermione asked him. “Tom obviously died.  You’ve seen his spirit.”

 

Choking back a sob, Harry spent a moment gathering his emotions under control.

 

Of course his crush had to be a dead guy.

 

Harry started laughing and couldn’t stop.

 

Startled, Hermione began to call out to her friend.  “Har-“

 

“Hey, mate, you all right in there?” called Ron from the other side of the curtain.

 

That brought a new round of laughter.  Firstly, because Harry was reminded of The Wizard of Oz—“Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.”—and secondly, because he was far from “all right”.

 

The curtain was pulled aside and Ron’s familiar ginger-haired, freckled-face appeared.

 

“What’s going on?” Ron questioned as he stepped through the curtains.  Not bothering to closer them behind him, the curtains remained open enough for Harry to get a look at the windows that overlooked the grounds of Hogwarts.  It was still light out.  Either he slept all night or not that much time had passed.

 

“Told you about Malfoy huh?” Ron continued without waiting for a reply.

 

Harry’s laughter choked to a halt.  An image of Malfoy’s broken body flashed through his mind.

 

Ron snorted as he flopped gracelessly onto the end of the bed, forcing Harry out of his thoughts.  “Ferret-faced bastard,” Ron grumbled.

 

“Ron,” Hermione scolded sharply.

 

“What?”  Ron turned towards her.  “You can’t tell me that his miraculous resurrection is not the least bit suspicious.”

 

Harry froze as if hit with a _perfectus totalus_ and for a moment, he forgot how to breath.  “Resurrection” echoed inside his head.  Though he knew what the word meant, he could not reconcile what it meant in regards to Malfoy.

 

Oblivious to Harry’s reaction to his proclamation, Ron continued, “It had to be some sort of Dark magic.”

 

“Ronald,” Hermione rolled her eyes with a long, heavy sigh.

 

“He’s a Slytherin, ’Mione,” Ron said as if that explained it all.

 

“…And…?”

 

“And what?  Malfoy is a Slytherin. They’re all slimy, evil, Dark magic wielding psychopaths who are out to enslave the rest of us!  He probably used some sort of Dark ritual-“

 

“You’re delusional Ronald.”

 

“What did you mean?” Harry interrupted their tête-à-tête brusquely.  Right now was really not the time for one of their little lover’s spats.

 

“Huh?” Ron deadpanned the inquiry.

 

Looking sheepish, Hermione bit her lip and glanced at the far wall.

 

Harry gritted his teeth against his rising irritation.  “When you said ‘his miraculous resurrection’, what did you mean?” he asked, each word spoken carefully.

 

Ron blinked at Harry and then turned to Hermione.  “Didn’t you tell him?”

 

“I hadn’t gotten around to it yet,” Hermione said defensively.  She tossed a pointed glare at Ron.  “ _Someone_ came busting in-“

 

“Yeah, well, you were taking too long,” Ron retorted.

 

Their constant need to side track the conversation made Harry want to pull out his hair.  “What did you mean?” he snapped when Hermione started to open her mouth.  Usually their backs and forths were amusing, but right now he wanted to _bombarda_ their sorry butts out of his sight—preferably to Pluto.

 

After a silent conversation with Ron that only increased Harry’s ire, Hermione said, “We thought that Malfoy was—gone.”

 

That she, of all people, could become choked up over someone who had not once been kind to her, raised Harry’s already high respect of her.  Harry’s anger fizzled, though it did not die.

 

“Yeah, mate,” Ron agreed with a nod.  “He was all-“

 

“ _But_ ,” Hermione stressed loudly over what was likely going to be a morbid description while giving Ron the Evil Eye, “he suddenly—gasped and tried to sit up.”

 

Harry slumped over in relief with tears blurring his vision.  “He’s,” he choked around a sob, “Malfoy is…”

 

“Alive,” Hermione said in a soft voice, “yes.”

 

“Unfortunately,” Ron grumbled under his voice.

 

“Ronald,” Hermione scolded sharply.

 

Harry’s head snapped up and around to glare murderously at his friend.

 

The Weasleys and the Malfoys had a long standing feud; the source of which nobody seemed to remember.  Naturally this feud would lead to animosity between the members.  Harry understood that, but this attitude of Ron’s of commiserating a fellow student’s recovery from what should have been a fatal fall was nonsensical.  Even though Malfoy and Harry did not have the best history, Harry would never wish ill on Draco, but maybe that was his bias influencing his emotions.  If it had been one of the Dursleys or even one of Dudley’s little gangbanger friends, would that make a difference?

 

Harry blanched at the mental images.

 

He could not understand how someone could be so heartless.

 

“Get out,” Harry sounded carefully.

 

“Huh?”  Ron blinked at him in confusion.

 

Fury flashed across Harry’s face.

 

Sensing the rising danger, Hermione scrambled to her feet and grabbing hold of Ron, pulled him none-too-gently off the bed.

 

“What are you-?”

 

“We’ll leave you to rest,” Hermione told Harry.

 

“But-,” a spluttering Ron protested.

 

“Go,” she hissed through clenched teeth with a vicious shove.

 

With a yelp, Ron stumbled through the curtains.  Catching himself before face-planting on the stone floor, he turned around and just as he opened his mouth—probably to protest some more—Hermione yanked the curtains closed.

 

Like a switch had been thrown, Harry’s anger dissipated.

 

Her head bowed, Hermione stood there with her back Harry and the curtains fisted in her hands for several moments before her shoulders sagged.  “I’m sorry.”

 

Unable to speak due to the lump in his throat, Harry shook his head.  She had nothing to apologize for, but the apology was appreciated.

 

“Malfoy’s being transported to Saint Mungo’s,” Hermione was saying.  “I’m sure he’ll be fine though!”  The last was said with a peek over her shoulder.

 

Harry nodded in agreement.  Magic was brilliant that way.  Malfoy was sure to be back and as snarky as ever.

 

“What will you do?”

 

That was a loaded question.

 

Something only Hermione knew—and only because she figured it out; her being the brainiac that she is—was that once upon a time, Harry used to have a crush on Malfoy.  Nothing ever came of it and eventually he was able to move on.  But you never really forget your first love.

 

“And Tom?” Hermione asked quietly.

 

Harry winced.  Another brain teaser that.

 

“I’ll tell Madam Pomfrey you’re awake,” Hermione said into the silence that enveloped the two of them.  She tossed Harry a smile that appeared forced before vanishing through the curtains.

 

Harry heard hushed voices that quickly dimmed before vanishing. 

 

With a sigh, Harry fell backwards.  Folding his hands over his forehead, he stared up at the ceiling and quickly became lost in the play of shadows.  His mind was blissfully free from thought for the short time before Madam Pomfrey shuffled in and started fussing over him as if he were the one broken at the bottom of the Grand Staircase.

 

He was quickly released—even though Madam Pomfrey would have liked to keep him overnight for observation—with orders to rest.  If Harry was being honest, he would have preferred to stay in the hospital ward away from the prying eyes of the rest of the school.  Not very Gryffindorish behavior, but given the circumstances, he figured he was entitled.

 

Using the secret passageways, Harry was able to make it back to Gryffindor Tower without seeing anyone.  It had the added benefit of bypassing the Grand Staircase.

 

Gratefully, the Fat Lady merely inclined her head in greeting before granting him access.  He was met with a wave of sound.  It was almost like hitting a brick wall at full speed.  The buzz of voices gave him a sense of comfort, almost like coming home, but at the same time he was hesitant.

 

He clambered through the portrait home.

 

Immediately silence fell.

 

Lifting his head, Harry froze at the sight of dozens of eyes riveted on him.  Was this what prey felt like?  It reminded him sharply of second year when he was outted as a Parselmouth.

 

It was not a pleasant feeling.

 

Then the whispers began.  They seemed to revolve around him and taunt him much like when he was cornered by Dudley and his gang.

 

His head was spinning.  


He began to panic.

 

The portrait clicking open behind him sounded like the crack of apparition, which itself sounded similar to a car backfiring.  It caused Harry to release a startled gasp and jump as if hit with a stinging hex. 

 

Unable to stand the looks and the whispers circling about him like a herd of hungry dragons, Harry made a beeline across the common room to the staircase, taking them two at a time to reach the sixth year boys’ dorm.

 

Ron familiar voice called out after him, but Harry was not in the mood.

 

Hermione’s voice was silenced when Harry shut the door.  Hopefully, she was telling Ron that he needed space.

 

Throwing himself onto his bed, he drew the curtains—charming them closed—and curled around his pillow.

 

His chest throbbed with pain.

 

Tears stung his eyes and blurred his vision.

 

Harry hugged his pillow tighter, but at the sound of crinkling, froze.  Both confused and curious, Harry uncurled from around his pillow and sat up.  Lifting up his pillow, Harry huffed in pleasure at the sight of the Marauders Map.

 

Flinging the pillow aside, uncaring that it fell to the floor behind the nightstand, Harry grabbed the map.

 

His pulse was racing in anticipation as he unfolded the map.  It was blank.  Maybe it was like Dudley’s computer that went into standby mode after a certain amount of time of inaction.

 

“ _Show me_ Draco Malfoy,” Harry told the map.

 

Nothing happened.

 

Harry frowned.  “Okay,” he drawled.

 

Was that because Draco was no longer in the castle or because the map had effectively shut itself off instead of it being in standby mode as he had first believed?

 

“Maybe… _Show me_ Hermione Granger.”

 

To his immense relief, the castle appeared on the once empty parchment, specifically Gryffindor Tower.  There on the sofa before the fireplace besides “Ginevra Weasley” was “Hermione Granger”.  Seamus and Ron appeared to be playing chess with Dean hovering nearby given their positions.

 

Of course this meant nothing happened before because Draco was not present in the castle.

 

Relief surged through him.

 

He closed his eyes against the sudden flood of tears.

 

Falling backwards onto the mattress, momentarily thrown by the lack of pillows under his head, Harry let the tears fall as a smile graced his face.  The arm with the map dangled over the side of the bed while he draped the other over his eyes.

 

He had an urge to look for Tom on the map next, but there was no point.  The map didn’t show ghosts.

 

The smile fell.

 

Curling onto his side, Harry brought the map up and watched his housemates’ movements until his eyelids grew heavy and he knew no more.

 

 

* * *

**III**

**Dursley Residence**

The weeks passed quickly after that and before anyone knew it, they were on the Hogwarts Express traveling back to London.

 

Not surprisingly, Draco never returned.

 

According to Dumbledore, Draco was recovering quite nicely, faster than expected actually.  Draco had been released from St. Mungo’s after only a week into the care of his parents.  In order to keep up with his studies, the Malfoys had apparently hired their son a tutor.  As Draco had not taken his finals at Hogwarts with them, Hermione theorized that Draco was going to take them at the Ministry in August, which was when the makeup examinations were held for those who failed, had had a conflict, were privately tutored, or just wanted to retake the examinations for whatever reason.

 

Harry had not known there were makeup examinations.

 

Whom he didn’t see the rest of the school year either was Tom.  He wasn’t by Black Lake where they first met nor was he on the Grand Staircase where Harry saw him last.  Had he moved on?  Harry prayed that was case, despite the numerous unanswered questions Harry had for the other. The thought of Tom’s continued suffering even after his death was heart wrenching for Harry to consider.  He hoped Tom had finally found the peace that had eluded him in life.

 

As for Harry himself, he once again found himself at the Dursleys.  Unlike past summers, though, things were going be different; he was taking back control of his life.

 

In a few weeks when Harry came of age, he was out of there.

 

Where he would go, he still was not sure, but anywhere was better than remaining here.  Maybe Sirius would have a suggestion.

 

He supposed he could always stay at the Leaky Cauldron.  It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than staying on the street, though the street was better than the Dursleys.  A muggle hotel was out of the question as was a hostel as photo ID was needed at both, something Harry did not have.  Of course he could always _confound_ the clerk, but that was more trouble than it was worth.

 

Was a muggle ID something he should look into?  He was not sure how often he would peruse the muggle world, but wasn’t it better to be safe than sorry?  Being caught without ID would be suspicious.

 

Of course, the problem is the proof of identification needed to get an ID.  He wasn’t sure what all was needed specifically, though he supposed it didn’t matter either way as he was sure he didn’t have anything that met the requirement—not to his knowledge anyway.  He would probably need a birth certificate at the very least.  Did wizards even have birth certificates?  Now that was something to look into.  Maybe Hermione knows. Wizarding birth records.

 

Getting a muggle ID was definitely on top of his To Do List, but it was bound to take longer than he had—if it could even happen anyway.  And that led him back to the question of his residence come the 31st of July.

 

The immediate problem, though, was removing his trunk from the boot.  Uncle Vernon refuses to help and if he—or even Dudley—ever did volunteer to help Harry with his trunk that would be cause for suspicion.  It had taken the entire Weasley clan to wrestle the thing into the car, so how was he supposed to lift it out?  Even empty his trunk was fairly weighty, but it was still much more manageable than it was when filled with books, clothes and all his other miscellaneous school items, which made the trunk feel as it weighed a ton.

 

What he wouldn’t give to cast a lightening charm.

 

“Bloody wizarding law,” Harry muttered.

 

There was an unbreakable charm on his trunk though, so if he could lift the trunk enough to maneuver it in such a way that would allow gravity to do the rest, he would be home free.

 

“Boy,” bellowed his red faced uncle from the door of the house.  “Hurry it up!”

 

Harry rolled his eyes, the action hidden by the raised boot lid. “Yes, Uncle Vernon,” he toned, adding under his breath, “Putz.”

 

Sighing heavily and wishing it was August already, Harry regarded his trunk with growing annoyance.  “Should’ve left it at school,” he muttered angrily.  Surely the house-elves would have looked after it.

 

Taking a deep breath, he held it for a brief count before exhaling softly.  “Here goes.”

 

He stepped towards the car, his knees brushing the bumper, and reached for the leather handle on the side of the trunk—praying it held.  Harry attempted to lift the trunk.  Grunting, his arms spasming under the strain, he wondered why he never bothered to add a feather light charm to his trunk.  He swore as he let go and stepped back to reassess the situation.

 

“Need help?”

 

Harry started at the unexpected male voice.  He turned and froze. 

 

Before him stood none other than Draco Malfoy.  His white blond hair was loosely slicked back off his forehead.  Those silvery-gray eyes that last Harry saw were dull and lifeless watched Harry guardedly.  His outfit was decidedly muggle.  Perfectly muggle actually; or could be mistaken as such at least.  A green short-sleeved button-down dress shirt, possibly silk, was tucked into semi-fitted black slacks that gave the illusion of height—not that Draco needed it being several inches taller than Harry himself.  Cinched around the narrow waist with a silver buckle featuring what had to be the Malfoy family crest was a belt.

 

“Dra-Draco,” he stuttered.

 

Harry had no many questions for Draco.  They jostled for first place within his mind, as a result becoming a jumbled mess and leaving Harry speechless.

 

Before he could get his thoughts in order, Draco shook his head with a look that was both sad and apologetic. Immediately Harry was reminded of the scene on the Grand Staircase with—

 

“Tom,” Harry breathed shakily.  The ground tilted and the world spun.  Dizzy, he stumbled back into the car.

 

“Hello, Harry,” Tom greeted softly with Draco’s unmistakable drawl.

 

Tears stung Harry’s eyes, blurring his vision.  He held a fisted hand to his mouth as a sob broke the sill evening.

 

A worried frown on his face, Tom took a step towards Harry but Harry panicked and held out his free hand and gave a vicious shake of his head.

 

Tom stopped, for which Harry was grateful.  This was all just—too much too fast.

 

“I suppose we need to talk.”

 

Harry laughed—even to him it sounded this side of crazy—and slumping down on the bumper, dropped his head into his hands.

 

“I did not push him,” Tom said forthrightly.

 

“No,” Harry said as he raised his head.  “You just took advantage of a tragic situation!”

 

Tom inclined his head in acknowledgement, but said nothing.

 

Harry studied the dapper figure of Draco that now housed the soul of Tom.

 

There was no doubt that Harry was angry at Tom for what he’d done, but at the same time, he wanted to kiss Tom silly.

 

Standing up, Harry crossed his arms over his chest.  Pushing aside the chaotic swirl of emotions was not an easy task, but he was determined to keep a clear and level head through this.

 

“Why?”  Internally wincing at how his voice cracked, Harry cleared his throat and repeated the question with a more firm voice.

 

A sudden thought occurred to him.  “Does it have something to do with Lucius?”

 

“Abraxas.”

 

“Who?” Harry asked in confusion.

 

“Lucius’ father,” Tom explained.  “He was a few years ahead of me…”

 

“Oh.”  Draco’s grandfather.  Hadn’t the man died of complications due to Dragon Pox?

 

“…and he was Prince of Slytherin.”

 

Harry froze, his arms falling loosely to his sides, as things began to click into place.  He said slowly, “Was he-?”

 

“Mudbloods are not looked upon too fondly in Slytherin, especially ones smarter than the Prince,” Tom explained in a calm matter that was almost matter-of-fact.

 

A wave of melancholy washed over Harry at the realization that he had been right about Tom’s fate.

 

“One of the rules of Slytherin is never—get—caught,” Tom continued.

 

“Boy,” hollered Vernon from the house.

 

Harry sneered over his shoulder at the doorway of the Dursley household.

 

Making a snap decision, Harry eyed Tom.

 

Tom returned the look with a cocked eyebrow.

 

“Help me with my trunk so we can get out of here and talk.”

 

“Done.”

 

A snap of his wrist had Tom’s—Draco’s—wand in his hand.

 

Though impressed, Harry muttered, “Showoff.”

 

Tom chuckled.  With a swish and a flick of his wrist—that was a little too elegant; it sent warm shivers up Harry’s spine—the trunk that took several grown men to manhandle into the boot was lifted out.

 

Despite knowing that Tom would never be as careless as to use magic where Muggles could see, Harry still found himself searching the neighborhood.  By the time Harry turned back, his trunk was the size of a matchbox.

 

“Definite showoff,” Harry said as he took the proffered dollhouse sized luggage and tucked it into his pocket.

 

With a smirk, Tom offered Harry his arm.  “Shall we?”

 

“Hurry and get in this house, Boy!  Dinner isn’t going to make itself!”

 

Rolling his eyes, Harry linked arms with Tom—flushing at the warmth radiating from the other—and called out to his uncle who filled the doorway of the Privet Drive home, “No.  No, it won’t.  Better get moving then!”

 

His face growing as red as Petunia’s roses, Vernon slammed open the screen door and lumbered onto the front landing.  “Boy!”

 

The urge to retort, “Vernon” was strong, but he forced it back and instead decided to allow Tom to lead him away from the Dursleys—hopefully to never return.

 

Where he went from here, Harry still was not sure, but as long as he had Tom besides him, nothing else really mattered.

 

“By the way,” Harry said as he was escorted into an alley, “what should I call you?  Tom or Draco?  And what do you think Lucius’ reaction’s going to be when I show up on his doorstep?”

 

An evil smirk twisted Tom’s features.  “Priceless,” he said right before they vanished with an almost inaudible clap of air.

 

 

**The End**

 

 


End file.
